On Never Riding the MRT Again.

After vowing a month ago that I would never ride the MRT, I took the plunge and rode it again. A month ago, I told myself I would never ride it again because the experience left my hair and my clothes drenched in not just my own sweat but other people’s sweat and left me gasping desperately for air. I ended up getting off 5 stops before I was meant to get off because I literally could not breathe.

But I took it again two days ago.

I did it because I left work early and I thought I was making perfect time with getting to EDSA. I had planned to do a bit of grocery shopping and my laundry and thought that the fastest way to get home was by using the MRT. Everything was smooth. The line to buy tickets was fast, there was no line to get through security and even the line to get into the MRT itself was tolerable. Until I was at the head of the line and was waiting for the next train only to have some lady ninja who was a bit ‘meaty’ zoom past me and was literally pushing herself into the car. Her arms extended out and her hand stretched out as though pushing against an invisible wall between my body and her’s. She had a look of desperation as I looked into her eyes. I looked at everyone else grunting and swearing at how desperate she was to just get into the MRT.

The train left and I waited patiently for the next one. It eventually came and I contemplated on staying behind because the carriage was already full but thought that I would just be wasting time if I kept on waiting on the platform. So yes, along with the rest of those that force themselves on the train, I too lost my breeding and end up pushing my way into the train.


I needed my personal space so I made sure my arm was stretched out in front of me to create a space between me and the person squished between me and the door. I felt sweat drip down my thighs; I shouldn’t have worn my denim skirt. It felt as though I had peed my pants but it didn’t matter, I was sweaty all over. I could feel the weight of the crowd on my back as the women in the carriage relied on the person in front of them or beside them to catch their weight whenever the train would turn on its tracks or slow down. I didn’t want to break that small personal space I made for myself but could feel the weight getting heavier and heavier. I made a loud “TSK” sound but these women kept on allowing their bodies to bump everyone else; don’t these women care for personal space? I had enough. My arms were getting tired even though I knew I could hold them out longer but I felt like these women needed to be taught a lesson.

So I counted in my head, “One… Two… Three…” and released the strong hold I had. I heard a chorus of, “Ohhhhh…” as I turned to see the crowd of heads fall forward.


So anyway I eventually made it home. I was able to do grocery and was also able to take my clothes to the laundry shop up the road. But I’m making that vow to never riding the MRT again. Maybe I’ll give another month. Maybe.


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